Secrets

By Anita Dawes

Many children have an invisible friend and sometimes they are a necessary part of a child's life for many reasons.

But supposing this 'friend' seems hell bent on causing more than childish mischief?

The question is, how to send it packing and restore the status quo with the minimum of damage?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Anita Dawes
• Release date: Feb 1, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301496785

Anita Dawes

I write my books with a lot of help from my sister Jaye. We are both 'silver surfers' which proves you are never too old to have fun! We will have more books for Smashwords soon.

Book preview

Chapter one

Jack Swan sliced through his fried egg the same way he did every morning, precisely, like a surgeon. Cutting a piece of bacon and sausage, he proceeded to dip them into the bright yellow yolk in a very business-like manner.

Sitting opposite him at the breakfast table, Maggie watched him eat, remembering what he'd said at the beginning of their marriage so long ago; that a good breakfast was the only way to start the day. As far as Jack was concerned, if his egg was right, the day would be perfect, and not for the first time she wondered about this part of his childhood programming. According to medical science, we are all supposed to have something we carry around with us from childhood. Something individual that makes us act the way we do. She wondered what hers was.

Deep in thought, Maggie started to play with her breakfast and it was Jack's turn to watch fondly as she doodled with the egg yolk, spreading strange and bizarre patterns across the plate. The early morning sunlight streamed through the kitchen window bathing the breakfast scene in a cosy glow. She looked like a child sitting there in her pretty cotton housecoat, pale honey-coloured hair falling around her shoulders like a halo. He was sure she had something on her mind. Knowing he didn't really have the time and hoping she'd say it was nothing, he said, 'What's up, love, did you have another bad night with Danny?'

She slowly looked up at him from the mess on her plate, and he could tell by the way her usually bright blue eyes darkened to the colour of the sea that he wasn't about to hear anything like what he wanted to hear.

Looking back down at her plate, she said, 'I'm very worried about him, Jack. These terrible nightmares are getting him down; and now this thing about an imaginary friend, I don't like it, something's wrong.'

Jumping straight in, hoping to get it over with quickly so he could get out of the house, he said, 'You know what the doctor told us, he'll grow out of it soon enough. It will only make things worse if we try and make Danny let go before he's ready.'

'Yes, I know what he said,' an edge creeping into her voice, 'but he's not God. You don't have to take everything he says as gospel. I don't happen to think this thing with Toby is the same as a comfy blanket or a favourite teddy a child drags around with him. Can't you see how he has changed?

'... he's destructive, rude and downright messy. Don't you think dragging half the garden into the kitchen last week was going a bit too far? You saw his face when I tried to tell him off, he wasn't the least bit sorry. Judging from the skid marks all over the place it was plain to see he had a whale of a time, and what did he say when I asked him why he'd done it? ... because Toby wanted him to.

'... Jack, can't you see we have to make him understand this Toby is only in his mind and he's too old to play these pretend games?'

He took a deep breath, painfully aware the time was getting on. 'Maggie, he's only seven. You're making too much of it. The doctor said to give him time and not to bully him into giving up Toby. It might make his nightmares worse.'

She opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, he reminded her again that she had agreed the gentle approach was best.

'Plus, you haven't given that idea of yours a chance. Having Cathy take Danny to school with Michael may work. He'll soon see that having a real friend is lots more fun. Have you asked him again about joining the cubs?'

She snorted. 'I did, and his answer was the same as before. Toby doesn't want him to.'

'Give him time, Maggie, he'll come around.'

Maggie seemed to have run out of wind for the time being, so he took his empty plate over to the sink and left it on the draining board. Straightening his tie as he turned to her again, he said, 'I'm sorry I don't have time to talk this morning. I have four books waiting for a final decision and what with the deadline and our new budget, I think I'll have to reject two of them, you know how I hate sending out rejection letters. It doesn't make for a nice day, especially when a book is worth publishing. If you're that worried about Danny, we'll talk about it tonight.'

Maggie frowned and gave him the kind of look that said, sure we will. Jack had seen it many times and responded in a way she had grown used to over the years. He pulled her into his arms, squeezed her gently, saying, 'I promise we'll talk about it later.'

Then he kissed her goodbye, grabbed his briefcase and left.

Maggie knew changing the word 'tonight' to 'later', meant she was on her own as usual, and as she heard the distant sound of the BMW kick into life, she knew the world of publishing would claim him until five thirty, when he'd call to let her know if he was working late or not. But that was something that didn't happen too often now he was a partner in the company.

There had been many times lately when Maggie wished they could go back to the beginning when they spent endless hours planning their life together. Jack wanted to be a great writer, to be able to reach people with the sheer power of his words.

She wanted to walk the same road as Da Vinci and Michelangelo, but there was more than a touch of Dali in some of her earlier paintings, most of which were stacked in a cupboard in her studio. Jack's writing hadn't made the grade either; he'd soon discovered his talent lay in recognising the abilities of other would-be authors.

He started out as an in-house reader, ploughing through stacks of manuscripts of every conceivable genre, not to mention talent. It was sometimes boring, but you kept going, hoping to discover a best-seller hiding amongst the piles of dross. He worked his way up through the business, learning all there was to know and nearly ten years ago was made a partner in a small, but successful publishing company in Fulham. With the massive pay rise, they bought the big house in Wimbledon overlooking the common. From then on, Jack's life had been pretty much the same, ninety-per-cent business, ten-per-cent home and family.

Maggie's painting style had changed several times over the years. Some of her early work was shown without success, and it wasn't until she started painting late at night, (and sometimes all night) that she found a style that suited her inner mood and the art critics.

Her paintings could make you believe you lived in a magic world of unicorns with soft sunlight filtering through the trees; crystal-clear lakes that whispered of a time long forgotten; or grip your heart with sheer terror while dragging your soul through dark haunted woods where evil shadows lurked around every corner.

She squirted green washing-up liquid into the bowl, ran the hot water and waited for the mountain of bubbles to appear before plunging the breakfast plates into the white suds.

The water was almost too hot. Tossing her hair back over her shoulder, she let the heat of the water soothe away some of her tension and tried to remember if Cathy had mentioned coming back for coffee this morning. She hoped not, not today, she wasn't in the mood for company. She hadn't heard the arrival of Cathy's 'rust bucket' formerly known as an Alfa Romeo, so she wasn't home from the school yet.

Cathy promised to get the car fixed after some of the neighbours complained about the noise every morning when she tried to get it started, not to mention the way it backfired late at night. Maggie had gone to the car dealer with her several times, but Cathy couldn't bring herself to get rid of the old faithful 'rust bucket'.

'Once you get her going, she's great', she'd say, 'Never lets me down.' In the end, she would promise to let Ted, her husband have another look at it. Trouble was, Ted couldn't figure out why it took so long to get it started. He was only home for a few weeks at a time, and then it was back to the oilrigs. Cathy always had a long list of jobs for him that needed doing.

When Cathy and Ted Hinton first moved in next door four years ago, it was the way their son Michael and Danny had taken to each other that helped their friendship to grow. Maggie usually preferred to be left alone to paint, but Cathy was one of the few people Maggie trusted completely. It was a comfortable relationship; she didn't have to make the incessant small-talk that most acquaintances seemed to require. When Michael started to go out of his way to avoid Danny, it put a strain on everyone and had Maggie worried.

Cathy questioned Michael repeatedly after Maggie explained about Toby, but he didn't seem to know what she was talking about. He had good excuses as to why he avoided Danny most of the time, like cubs, homework or he promised to play with one of his other friends, but he didn’t mention Toby.

Cathy said she would keep on trying in the hope of finding out anything that might help.

Ted was of the same opinion as Jack, the child would grow out of it soon enough and the boys would be the best of friends again. Somehow, Maggie didn't think so. She had the nagging feeling something was wrong with Danny and it wouldn't just go away. Her mind was distracted from her problems by the swift movement of a grey squirrel running across the lawn. She watched as it ran around in a nervous frenzy, stopping here and there to dig at the ground with its tiny feet, looking for a long-forgotten buried nut. Every now and then, he would sit up on his haunches like a meerkat and just stare straight ahead, frozen in fear as if by some heard, but unseen intruder. Then, the spell broken, he scampered off to pastures new.

The telephone rang and took Maggie away from the kitchen window, just as she was making a mental note to trim back the tall conifers that lined the fence, shielding her from the prying eyes of her other neighbours, the Wilsons. They were obnoxious snobs of the highest degree. She planted them within weeks of their moving in. Just over a year later, they had grown from three-foot shrubs to quite tall trees. In contrast, the fence on Cathy's side of the garden was planted with roses and sweet-smelling jasmine.

The telephone's persistent ringing brought more than a touch of annoyance. Whoever it was had no intentions of giving up or going away. Grabbing at it with more force than she intended, had she been a dragon awakened from a long sleep the receiver would have melted from the heat in her sharp-edged, 'Yes!'

Scott's familiar happy voice greeted her ears. 'Maggie darling, why haven't you answered my calls? I have left umpteen messages on that unfeeling machine of yours. You know darling, I do believe you enjoy tormenting me. If begging will get you back, then I'm begging. You just have to get another show ready. My gallery needs you... people have been asking why they can't get hold of your work anymore and what can I tell them? That you're only working for big bucks these days?'

'Scott, take a breath and let me get a word in.' she snapped.

'Darling, if it's the same word you've been giving me for the last three months, I don't want to hear it.'

'Well, I'm afraid it is the same, Scott. No. I like the slower pace of commissions; I can actually breathe while I work.'

Maggie thought to herself, I really don't need this, and wished she'd remembered to switch on the answering machine.

'Scott, I really have to go...'

There was no answer so she could legitimately hang up, but instead, she said, 'Scott, are you listening to me?'

He was still there, she could hear him breathing.

'... I don't have ten, twenty paintings a year in me anymore, do you hear me?'

'Yes Maggie, I hear, but I don't believe you. I've been more than your agent; I'm your friend and have been for almost as long as you've been married to Jack. I think I know you almost as well as I know myself, why are you hiding, Maggie, why won't you tell me what's wrong? Have lunch with me today...'

'Scott, I can't. I'm behind with my work...'

There was more than a hint of a sneer in his voice when he said, 'Oh, you still call it work then.'

Maggie felt the dragon begin to burn again. 'There's no need to be hurtful just because I'm not lining your pocket!'

'Ouch, darling, that hurt.'

'I'm sorry, but you asked for it,'

'Agreed, but what about lunch? I'm serious, Maggie, I know something's wrong and I want to help.'

Now it was Maggie's turn to let the line go dead, but Scott didn't wait. 'Come on darling, you know I'll keep pestering until you give in.'

She knew he really did care about her and he sounded serious, that didn't happen very often. Life was much too short for long faces, he always said. He called everyone darling, even Jack, who had never quite taken to Scott. Maggie had never met anyone who was quite so offended by being called darling, but Jack visibly cringed whenever he was greeted by him. There were times when she was sure that Scott played it up, just to see Jack's face.

Some years ago, Scott confessed to her in a moment of weakness, 'If I didn't prefer the other side of the sheets, I'd have given Jack a run for his money, if anyone could have straightened me out it would have been you, darling Maggie.'

Jack heard the same thing on more than one occasion and she had never been able to convince him that being jealous of Scott was a complete waste of time.

Scott didn't have many dark moods, and for that Maggie was grateful. On the rare occasions he used her shoulder to cry on, he always said, 'Whenever you get tired of Jack, come and be my mistress. You could love me back into shape.'

At first, Maggie thought it was only a game, a need to wallow occasionally because he wasn't like other men because he'd been born with a fault. His words, not hers.

Over the years, she learnt to understand him and all the torment he hid behind his great smile. He was still a good-looking man, some ten years older than Jack. His dark hair was mostly grey now, his Van Dyke beard completely white. Maggie had grown to love him, and she owed him a great deal as it was his gallery that gave her the first break. He had shown five of her paintings and sold two on the very first day. The other three took longer, but they sold too and she remembered how good it felt to spend the money on decent brushes, extra canvasses and tubes of paint, a rare treat in those days.

She gave in and agreed to have lunch at Scott's favourite bistro on the King's Road at one o'clock and finally satisfied, he hung up.

Sitting with the telephone still in her hand, she wondered if he was right about her having another exhibition. The angry buzzing of the disconnected line finally reached into her mind, stirring long forgotten memories of the fire that once burned so brightly, keeping her chained to the canvas day and night, hardly remembering to eat or allow her body the rest it badly needed. Waiting to be discovered gave you an edge that seemed blunted now by success. Maggie wondered if she had gone soft and if it showed in her work.

Maybe it was too late; the raw desire was no longer there. The thirst for recognition had been quenched, or had it? Was there still a tiny flicker of the old hunger just waiting to be stoked back into life? Just for a moment, Maggie felt it again, the butterflies, the whispers in the back of her mind that someday she would be great.

She replaced the receiver and slowly compared her memories to her well-organised life, not counting the problems with Danny. She would never be hungry again, no landlord trying to break down the door in the hopes of getting his rent, no more worrying about the unpaid bills. Jack was more successful than even he dreamed of. The house was paid for and worth an incredible amount of money. The rooms were huge and the kitchen had every labour-saving device known to man, the majority of which were concealed behind a vast expanse of expensive antique pine doors.

The whole house was perfect, everything she ever wanted. She fell in love with the place the moment she saw it, including all the old fireplaces, which Jack wanted to rip out until she persuaded him that he would be destroying the very heart of the place. The huge garden surrounding the house clinched the deal and Jack built her a studio facing south, where the light was better.

He let Maggie have her own way on the decor and what should go and what should stay. With her artist's eye, he knew they would have a home to be proud of when it was finished.

All the paintwork had been stripped back to the original wood and for the first two years, they seemed to live with the decorators, but the result was worth the wait. Soft, creamy colours made each room a peaceful haven, a joy to live in.

A year later Danny was born, something both she and Jack had almost stopped hoping for. Their life was perfect.

Maggie's inner fire slowly begun to dim, replaced by motherhood and all the attendant joys, the first smile, all pink and new; the first tooth, something to celebrate. The first step Danny took was ringed in red on the calendar as a day of triumph and the day he tried to say 'm-mum' brought tears of joy to both of them.

Nowadays her mind was so confused about Danny. All his life they had given him everything, all the love and security a longed-for child deserves, but it didn't seem to count for anything anymore.

Recently, during one of their late-night talks, Jack reminded her they hadn't given him a brother or a sister.

Maybe Danny was lonely.

Maggie couldn't agree with that. Besides, their doctor said most young children had make-believe friends for all manner of reasons, loneliness being only one of them. Then Maggie thought of Michael next door, he was a completely normal child and he didn't have a brother or a sister. Cathy said he didn't have a funny friend either as far as she knew.

Watching the steam from the kettle throw clouds of mist on the pretty wall tiles, Maggie wondered if Cathy would mind if she asked Michael if he ever had a make-believe playmate. She still hadn't heard the old 'rust bucket' herald its arrival. Cathy must have gone on one of her shopping sprees after dropping the boys at school.

When the grandfather clock in the hall struck the half hour, Maggie looked at her watch. It was ten-thirty already but she couldn't force herself to move, and for the next fifteen minutes, she watched the coffee go cold. She should be starting work on that commission for the big oil company. They wanted a huge painting of the North Sea, all oilrigs and helicopters and many angry waves, at least that's what she was told. The money was too good to turn down even though she didn't need it.

She remembered the lean years and smiled. She still didn't like to say no where money was concerned. It wasn't a case of being greedy, just a feeling that saying no might close a door somewhere that you could never open again.

Maggie gave Jack a passing thought, remembering what he said that morning about turning two good books down. She knew he remembered the lean years too, he rather liked being in the position of being able to put some young struggling writer on the road to success. Everyone deserved the chance to realise their dreams at least once in their lives, that was Jack's motto and not just empty words either, he'd often gone with a book when it had been turned down by his reader. So far, he hadn't been wrong. He knew instinctively which kind of material would sell and liked to take a gamble with something slightly different. David Gates, his partner, would sometimes say a manuscript was too different, that people weren't ready for it yet.

Jack would come back with the reasoning, 'While we play God with what the public can and cannot read, they never will be ready unless we let them judge for themselves.'

He knew from experience that even as they debated whether to condemn a book to obscurity, there was a struggling writer with his or her heart on hold while they played Roman emperor, with their thumbs poised to go up or down.

It was Jack's enthusiasm that got him the job in the first place. After being rejected as a writer, publishing was all he wanted to do. The one thing Maggie loved most about Jack was he never brought a bad mood home with him after work, and the fact that he had a big heart was something many people benefited from. Even his rejection slips reflected the gentle way he cared about not hurting people's feelings. Where necessary, he believed, they should be left in no doubt that their work was good and that there was an even chance of having it accepted sooner or later.

Maggie's thoughts came to a sudden halt by the backfiring of Cathy's old car. If she planned to come in for a coffee this morning, she would be at the back door any second.

Maggie was in the habit of leaving the back door unlocked since knowing Cathy. Jack joked, 'She's in and out so often, we need a revolving door!'

Leaving it unlocked was the next best thing. Jack didn't really mind her popping in and out at all hours of the day and night; he knew their friendship was a good one, a rarity these days. Someone you could trust implicitly didn't come along all that often.

Maggie stood in the kitchen waiting for the back door to open. After five minutes passed, she figured Cathy must have gone indoors.

Not really in the mood for work, she decided on a long bath before meeting Scott. Leaving the cup of cold coffee on the kitchen table, she made her way to the bathroom...

Chapter two

As she passed the living room, she caught sight of Cathy through the window, still sitting in her car. Crossing the sunny room, she looked out of the bay window at the faithful old rust bucket. Cathy's hands were still holding the steering wheel and she was staring straight ahead as if she was at a crossroads waiting to join the traffic.

Maggie watched for a moment longer before she realised something must be wrong. Running from the room, she knocked over the small coffee table that stood beside the cream leather chesterfield. She heard the vase that was on it, fall to the floor and break, but without looking back she continued towards the front door, convinced something must be wrong with one of the boys.

She was almost out of breath when she flung open the car door. Cathy didn't move.

Maggie scanned her friend with eagle eyes. She didn't appear to be hurt; at least there was no blood. Placing her hand on Cathy's shoulder, she shook her gently.

'What's wrong, Cathy, are you hurt? What's happened?'

Cathy let go of the wheel and looked at Maggie, but her eyes were blank.

Maggie was getting scared. 'Cathy, for God's sake, what's wrong?'

'Nothing's wrong. I was just thinking... Oh, I stopped at that new shop, got us some cream cakes. Hope you've got the kettle on.'

Maggie stepped aside, her heart still racing from some imagined fear and watched as Cathy dragged two shopping bags from the car. Slamming the door, she turned to Maggie, whose mouth was still hanging slightly open.

'Come on, Mags, wake up. I want to show you the new dress I've just treated myself to. Ted's going to love it.'

Before Maggie could say a word, Cathy was halfway across the lawn. She marched through the open front door and made straight for the kitchen. Dumping her bags on the table, she shook the kettle. Satisfied there was enough water, she flicked the switch. It was obvious she did not intend to enlighten Maggie as to the thoughts that held her spellbound in her car for more than ten minutes. Maggie's sudden rush of fear was rapidly turning to annoyance.

Cathy pulled a bright red dress from one of the bags, holding it in front of herself she asked, 'Well, what do you think?'

'Yes, it's very nice, but...'

'Come on, Mags, it's more than nice, it's great!'

Maggie tried to look more enthusiastic but there really wasn't much to say. It was very short, the kind of dress Maggie considered no more than a vest, but on Cathy it would probably look wonderful.

'You're right, it's great and Ted will love it. But what was that out there just now? That must have been one hell of a thought. I was watching you for five minutes before I came outside. You didn't even hear me open the car door!

'... You scared the hell out of me, I thought something was wrong or you were hurt, and here you are trying to fob me off with another one of your dresses. You buy one every time Ted comes back from the rigs.'

Cathy looked hurt. 'I like to look nice when he comes home, you know that.'

'Yes, I know, Cathy. I'm sorry, but I thought we were friends and could be honest with each other. Something happened on the way to school, didn't it? Did Danny do something bad?'

Maggie looked close to tears and Cathy suddenly realised she had worried her even more by not saying anything.

The kettle began to boil away merrily. Cathy put the dress back in the bag and